Lights, Camera, Romance!
by Little-Miss-Badass
Summary: Rose and Dimitri are teen celebrities whose on-screen romance is followed by billions. But it's their off-screen love life that has made them really famous. There's just one problem- they hate each other! When the paparazzi blow their cover, Rose and Dimitri have to disappear to weather the media storm. Once away from the cameras, will they find true love? AU?OOC Read and Review!
1. A Guy Like Dimitri Belikov

**Lights, Camera, Romance! **

**Chapter 1: A Guy Like Dimitri Belikov**

**Hi, guys, I know I haven't updated my other stories for a year now, but I'm back in the writing spirit again, and with it, this came to mind. Hope you enjoy, and remember to review!**

**Little-Miss-Badass.**

**ROSE**

I will never like a guy like Dimitri Belikov. He's arrogant, stupid, and is the single most annoying person in my life.

Dimitri Belikov, known to the better part of the world as Ben Barnes, sits to my right in a chair with both names scripted on the back. Personally, I think that the names should be written in block letters, as reading isn't Mr Belikov's strong point. Dumbass.

"So are we gonna make out or what?" Dimitri asks like he's asking me about the weather. I shrug.

"That depends. You think Mia Rinaldi will be there?" We are forever chased by legions of paparazzi- on the way to the set, at St Vladimir's (our favourite coffeehouse), shopping on Melrose, getting pedicures (me), jogging to the Santa Monica Pier (Dimitri), or walking on the beach (both of us, side by side, agent's orders). But Mia Rinaldi is the worst. She's known for snagging shots when you're down and really out- like if your mom's having surgery, she's there in the waiting room, or if the spray tan goes horribly wrong, she's the first to sell the pictures to the tabloids. And she's been on our case ever since rumours started about this being the last season of _Vampire Academy._

And the thing is, the rumours might be true.

Cut to three years ago; I was fourteen, and Dimitri was fourteen and a half. The Kirova Network was going under- no one wanted their stupid 'every episode has a moral' shows anymore so they tried one last thing. We were the last thing. _Vampire Academy _premiered to like, three people. But then word got out and pretty soon more people- like, maybe ten- were watching. So we had mild success. Great.

"I think we should go for the arm around the waist, my hand on your butt. And if you want," Dimitri flashes me a smirk, "You can rest your hand on my dick."

I glare at him. He smirks at me again.

"You carry this," he says and thrusts a thick block of paper at me.

"What's this? The Great Russian Novel?" I sneer, because the last thing that this boy is capable of is writing a book, even though he swears he will. One day. Yeah, right. He can't even leave a note that says more than three words, and even those are limited to "Coffee," "Meet me," or his signature "Outta here."

Dimitri pushes his hair- dark chocolate brown that's only a few shades lighter than mine- out of his eyes. He puts his hand on my arm and I fight the urge to shake him off in disgust.

"I _will _write that book someday," he says in his best believable voice. Sometimes he's so convincing it's hard to believe he's full of shit. Then he starts talking and ruins the whole illusion. "But this is a prop."

I check it out. It's the weight and size of a script, complete with _Vampire Academy: Season 5 _written on it in perfect italics. I check the time. We're due on set for our next scene in a few minutes- one where we go to a club just outside the grounds of the school and I sing 'Sexy Naughty Bitchy', which has already been leaked online and is rising at stupid speeds in download popularity. The lyrics are pure nonsense- and we're just fake characters. But people have a hard time remembering that.

Cut to two and a half years ago. I'm fourteen and a half, and Dimitri is fifteen and taller, his shoulders a bit more broad, his face (and body) decidedly hot. And the show's fine. It's okay. Then- I swear it must have been overnight (that's what the tabloids claimed, anyway)- it happened. I got boobs. One headline read, "Hathaway's C Cup Run" in honour of my unfortunate jogging-bra issues. Before there could be any doubt about the realness of my new boobs, my mom, Janine Hathaway, (then my manager, as well as a B-movie actress herself), went on E! saying it's genetic, showed her old school photos, and, sure enough, everyone's convinced. And they _are _real. But what isn't real is everything else.

"So we'll film the scene, I'll grab my stuff, and we'll go for a sexy, romantic walk." Dimitri and I lock eyes- his are dark brown but flecked with caramel specks; mine are the same dark brown, but they're pure dark brown, no caramel flecks at all. We agree. The sexy, romantic walk it is.

Cut to the end of Season 1. _Vampire Academy _has picked up viewers after the boob buzz, so when our agents wake up Dimitri and I in the middle of the night and tell us to meet them at four a.m. at the Dusk to Dawn Diner in West Hollywood, we figure it's about a salary increase. Or a summer special- _Vampire Academy: A Midnight Summer _or something like that. What we got instead was a cheap cup of watery coffee with no soymilk anywhere in sight and an ultimatum: fall in love or fall apart.

So we chose love. Or it chose us, you could say.

And we've been faking it ever since. Because even if the ratings were climbing courtesy of my C-cup boobs, they would fade like overwashed denim if we didn't give the audiences something more to cling on to than innuendos that lead nowhere and sexual tension that isn't dealt with. Fake romance wins a lot of followers.

"You hear we're number two in Japan?" Dimitri gulps water from a plastic bottle that he will later throw out before leaving the set with his camera-ready refillable eco-friendly metal bottle. It gives off a fake image that he's considerate about the environment. Seriously fake.

I nod. "Alberta told me," I say. Alberta is my agent and texts me every four to eight seconds about any and all news. My thigh buzzes and I check the text. "Correction. Number one." Dimitri reacts as though I've told him I like his socks (which I don't, because they're his socks, which apparently makes them super sexy and worthy of being showcased in every mall in the country).

"Yeah. Number one." He gulps more water and then hands the bottle to me. "You want this?" I'm about to be just the slightest bit touched- he remembers that I get parched in the mid-afternoon. "It tastes like shit."

I nudge him with my elbow and the water spills on his shirt. He jumps up, flailing like he's on fire (he can be such a pussy), and assistants rush to his aid. "Don't even think of the romantic walk now," he threatens, his brown eyes glaring, fiery with anger, his wet shirt clinging to his- gulp- sculpted, looks-rock-hard chest.

"Oh, like you have a choice," I sneer, and them am quickly aware of the crew paying too much attention to our fight. I raise my perfectly arched eyebrows and Dimitri does his best sexy smirk (which he is famous for) and opens his arms wide. I know the drill. I know this choreography of love. So I step forward, letting him embrace me, while the crew breathes a collective sigh.

_Aren't they cute?_

Cut to headlines: 'Vampire Academy's Real-Life Love'; 'Rose Hathaway: Leaving The Single Life?'; 'Dimitri Belikov and Rose Hathaway- So In Love!'

It's not difficult to keep up the charade, really. I mean, they hold hands, the guy handles the girl's butt and pulls her in public, the girl whispers something in his ear at the awards show that makes them both look like they want to go home, rip their clothes off and jump into bed, he fixes her dress strap on the red carpet, and you throw in some 'sexy' shots of them at the beach, horse-riding, and, most recently, on vacation on a private desert island.

Now that was fun: Dimitri Belikov- the boy of few words- a supposedly deserted island, and fish. Not exactly my version of fun. I spent most of my days reciting Shakespeare to the marine life. I'd snorkel and rehearse lines for the ultimate play- _Much Ado About Nothing. _Everyone is obsessed with _Romeo and Juliet: _the words, the poetry of forbidden love, real love, love so deep it destroys you, and so on. But to me, _Much Ado _has it all: the banter, the hidden emotions, love tucked away like the secret you can't tell for fear it will ruin you. That's what I recited on the island and all of it would wash away in the water, where no one but the fish could hear it. I know every line of that play. Memorizing always comes easy to me. The part about getting in touch with your true emotions, not so much. That's the price of _Vampire Academy. _No one can see us as anyone else.

We keep hugging. We're known for our long hugs. I'm used to Dimitri's scent- one part pure male, one part Sexy Teen cologne, which he has to wear since he's the face of their campaign. Three years and (though I hate to admit it) it still makes me weak in the knees and wet down south.

"It's time to film," Dimitri murmurs into the top of my hair.

The stage is set. Make-up comes in and pats my chin, nose and forehead with powder and touches up Dimitri's hair.

I drop the fake script for Season 5 in my chair and can already imagine the sexy, romantic walk we'll go on later. We perfected the sexy 'spontaneous' romantic walk way back at the start of Season 2: arms around waist, Dimitri moves his hand either to my butt or boob, I laugh/ moan, snuggle into his shoulder, rest my hand on his cock (and let me tell you, even when it's not at attention, it's fucking massive), and he whispers something into my ear. Sexy smirk. Hormones. Snap. Photographers love it. Only this time, I'll be holding the script for everyone to see, so that everyone knows that yes, there's another season; nope, no problems on set with a director who is checking into rehab; and, no, for the billionth time, we are not breaking up. We will do the sexy, romantic walk and convince everyone that there are no problems in paradise. And for that moment, captured on film, the lie will be easy to believe.

**DIMITRI**

My mom picked the name Dimitri because she thought it sounded like a leading-man name, the name of the world's sex symbol. She thought that a simple name like Paul would make me sound like I should be the wisecracking sidekick. However, my 'sidekick' on the show is called Edison Castile, which is definitely (in my opinion) not a sidekick sort of name.

Eddie parties way too hard. I'm sure that he'll be dead by twenty-five. I could be wrong.

I don't mean to sound cold, but it's the way stuff happens. You do too many drugs; you wind up dead one way or the other. I'm not against the alcohol, hell, I love Russian Vodka, but I'm definitely against drugs. Drugs kill you. Even in my hometown of Baia, Russia. Which is most certainly not where we are now.

Right now, we're on our way to walk romantically to St Vladimir's and sip lattes photogenically, then an intimate walk on the beach- just about every third ocean-view house between the pier and Venice Beach has a webcam streaming live pictures. So we'll be downloaded a lot- we'll probably see some packs of teens who will take cell phone pictures with us and put them on their Facebook pages. Free publicity. It keeps the ratings up, which is all part of the job.

I have to admit that the job is starting to wear me down. I'm starting to wonder how much money is enough. I'm not quite set for life, but I figure that by the time the DVD money stops flowing in, our fans will have kids of their own and will shell out enough for reunion tour tickets and merchandise, which means that we can slink back into obscurity and retire comfortably.

And then I'll never have to see her again.

Not that I hate Rose. In another life, I probably (who I am kidding? Rose is smoking!) would have been one of those guys who secretly watches our secret-filled, backstabbing bitch full show just to ogle Rose. She's not only the sexiest girl on the planet, she's also funny as hell- or, anyway, she's hilarious when she forgets who she's talking to. Namely, me. Rose carries the male views on her back, whilst I'm there for the girls. And it's pretty easy work.

But the fake romance- my second job, really- gets harder every day. Sometimes I'll do stuff like whisper, "You've got salad between your teeth," when we're posing for a 'sexy' photo.

That stuff probably hurts her feelings.

No. I know it hurts her feelings. And I should feel bad. But I don't. As Sartre said, "Hell is other people." I can't use that in public, though, because it would give off the impression that I actually read books. I can't appear to be too brainy because I'm the thick-yet-sexy eye-candy of the world.

But Rose does put me through hell. (That's my excuse). And it's not just me. I guess the nice thing to call her is a perfectionist. Whenever the director sets up something she doesn't like or the poor writers write something she doesn't like, she gets to change it. And believe me, she can be really persuasive. The crew tried standing up to her at first, but she can throw a diva fit with the best of them. "I _respect _the audience, Eddie! They _identify _with my character, and they're going to be _heartbroken _if she says this! I read the chat boards to find out what the fans want!"

And she really does. Every day she's on her MacBook Pro checking out what the world is saying about us. I think that it must be exhausting actually caring that much.

Whenever shooting is delayed because Rose feels like some part of the show doesn't fit her (specific, highly demanding) requirements, the crew look at me, pleading with me. "You're her boyfriend," their eyes seem to say. "Can't you do something?"

But I'm not her boyfriend. I just play the part of her boyfriend in the reality show that we call life. Not that I have a real life. I devote 168 hours a week to this charade, and all I want is to have the life of a normal teenage guy, with no one telling me where I have to go, or what I have to do.

Like right now. I attempt to order a medium iced latte- I'm not that thirsty since I've just drunk three quarters of a bottle of water that tastes like shit- but Rose interrupts, whispering through clenched teeth. Most people would think that this is a loving smile, but I know that it's a threat.

"Dimitri. Did you hear me order a large? You can't be consuming fewer calories than me. Think for a minute will you? They'll start taking photos of my thighs and saying that I have cellulite. We've talked about this."

Actually, she's talked and I haven't been bothered enough to listen to her rambling on about fuck knows.

"He'll have a large with _extra _whipped cream," she says to the barista, who is leering at her chest, and, from the looks of it, getting at hard-on at the sight. He catches me looking at him checking out her boobs and looks sheepishly at the floor. Dude, I want to say, you can have her. Take my girlfriend, please. I'm begging you.

And then I could get a real girlfriend. We've got attractive female fans of legal age, but I can't get near them because you never know who's got a cell phone with them or who's going to go running to the tabloids with the "My Wild Night with Dimitri Belikov" story. My mom warns me about this particular danger pretty often. It usually comes up after my nephew Paul (see, it's a great name) asks me which hot female celebrities I've met. Apart from Rose, who he never stops going on about.

If I ever did become a front-page tabloid story like that, I'd be the one who derailed the gravy train- and the one who broke the heart of not just America's, but the whole fucking world's, sweetheart sex princess. This would kill not only my likeability, but also my career.

Don't think that I haven't thought about it. Because I seriously have. But then I remember my mom putting in the time and effort to take me to auditions and rehearsals, and I feel bad about letting her down. And once, when even the guilt wasn't enough to make me stop, I went over the financials with Yuri, my accountant. He said that with the market in the toilet, I'm getting fuck awesome value on my investments right now, that it's a great time to buy, and that I shouldn't worry about all the paper value that my stocks have lost. And then there's my real estate. He says I could retire today, but I saw what happened to my dad (he worked for twenty-five years at a nuclear plant in Russia and has nothing to show for it) and I want a little extra security. Still, sometimes I think about ending it with one bold stroke.

I actually think about it all the time. Two girls from USC just sent me e-mails through the fan page with photos attached and thoughts on just exactly how they'd like to get to know me listed in excruciating detail. But even though they're hot, I can't help but think that Rose is hotter, with a much better rack. I try to clear my head of thoughts about Rose's body, but I give up almost immediately.

I'm only human, after all.

And so is Rose. I think. She hides her humanity under a robotic control-freak exterior. Walking with our iced lattes in hand towards the beach, she snuggles into the crook of my arm and I pull her close- like I need to protect _her _from anything, but, whatever, it's camera friendly- as some guy with a camera lens as long as his arm takes our picture from a block away.

"I could be in a dorm room at USC right now doing unspeakable things to girls named Abby and Celine," I say, smiling with practiced affection.

"You smell like cheap cologne, hun. I doubt that even skanks like them would want to have sex with you right now," she retorts, smiling up at me like I'm the only man in the world.

It's all I can do not to laugh. It's the cologne I promote and it's the most successfully selling cologne in the world. "Hey," I joke, "I paid nearly five bucks for this at the Rite Aid down the street!"

"Filling out an application for a job you're actually qualified for?" Rose replies.

"No, checking out this week's _Celeb Weekly _for details from your plastic surgeon on your enhanced puppies." I smirk at her.

"You'll never get any closer to them than a magazine article, loverboy." Rose smiles.

"Well, I've got your mom's, so I'm all set. Where do you want to do the script-reading shot? The beach?"

"We've done too many shots on the beach. Let's go to the farmer's market. We'll get some organic strawberries and do the shot there."

"Okay." Although the market is further away from my house, which means that I'll have to spend more time with Rose, it'll be good for the cameras that will definitely be following us. I'll 'surprise' Rose with some fresh roses (cheesy, I know) whilst she buys the strawberries and then we'll sit there on the green, green grass and look at the Season 5 script. Which is a mock-up created by my agent, Vasilisa Dragomir. But hopefully a "they're just like _us_!" photo with us eating strawberries and looking over the brand-new script will force the Kirova Network to renew us for another season. This is the theory, anyway.

I honestly don't know if I want it to work out or not.


	2. Excuse Me?

**Lights, Camera, Romance!**

**Hi guys, sorry for the long wait, but I've got the first ten chapters of the this story typed up and edited so it will be daily updates for you guys now unless I'm away on holiday. Where there's no Wi-fi. I know. Kill me now. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and at the bottom, there is an A/N thanking the 7 people who reviewed and everyone who favourited or alerted. Thank you. **

**Love, Little-Miss-Badass.**

**Chapter 2: Excuse Me? **

**ROSE**

Dahlias bright as pinwheels, yellow marigolds, purple irises, and sunflowers bunched together with ribbons of raffia. Beautiful. Then there are the dreaded roses.

"Don't get the same ones today," I whisper to Dimitri as we pass the flower cart and smile for a couple of teens and their moms, who try to act nonchalant but are in fact swooning over catching us in person.

Dimitri leans in, his lips close to my ear, tickling my earlobe. "Despite your wishes, _honey, _you can't control my every move. If they had a Venus flytrap, believe me, I'd get that for you and present it on one knee for all the world to see." I pinch his side with my freshly manicured nails and he flinches, then catches himself and laughs as though it merely tickled. "You give new meaning to the words 'ball and chain,'" he tells me.

I pull back and, because of the sun's glare, only he can see my eyes glaring at him from behind my Wayfarer sunglasses. "I wouldn't touch your ball and chain even if you paid me"

This banter is normal stuff, our usual back-and-forth insult fest, but for some reason Dimitri doesn't end it with a snog and send me on my way to buy strawberries. Instead, his voice is low, seething. "From what I hear, you've touched enough balls that two more wouldn't make a difference."

My pulse races. I sweep my hair off my shoulders. A woman and her friend linger close to us, clearly wanting to hear what I say next. And what should I say? That all the tabloid rumours about hooking up with Adrian Ivashkov or Jesse Zeklos were nothing but air? The sun warms my shoulders but my arms are covered with goose bumps.

_Snap! _A photographer steps out from behind the flower cart and gets a few shots before we have time to collect ourselves. I quickly smile, put my hand in my bag as though I'm searching for something, and come up with my phone. I put it to my ear even though no one's there. "Oh, sure! Great news," I say to the little people inside the phone. I wave faux-excitedly to Dimitri, who looks positively bored and slouches beside the fuchsia-coloured dahlias. "We're number one in Sweden!" I hold my finger up in the one position and the photographer skulks away, satisfied with his shots.

Under my breath I say, "You're a complete and utter wanker," to Dimitri, who looks at the ground, and, for one brief moment, looks truly sorry. I crumple like tinfoil whenever I see that look; it's just so lovable. Before I can make my usual smart-ass comment to break the awkward silence, Dimitri waves to someone. I turn to see who it is.

Adrian Ivashkov, fellow teen star and notorious womanizer who lives to love 'em and leave 'em. More lust than love, though, come to think about it. Then again, he's an indie film favourite, so he's allowed to be unshowered and gritty, sleazy but sexy.

"Hey, losers!" Adrian shouts in our general direction.

"I'm taking off," Dimitri says to me, pushing his hair back from his eyes. He's gorgeous in the sun and I swallow hard to try and avoid noticing the way the sunlight glints of his hair, the easy way he moves his body, as though he's always just stepped away from a massage table. Which, knowing him, maybe he has.

"What about the shot with the script?" I ask, trying not to whine, but I don't want to deal with Alberta's wrath if more rumours circulate about problems on set or the show's future.

"You'll survive without me." Dimitri grins. Who knows what he and Adrian will go do. No doubt some guys night out- fucking girls, downing drinks, driving way too fast. Things like that.

I turn his ambivalence into a quoteworthy moment. "How can I survive without you?" I ask and stand on tiptoe to kiss him. (He's tall, and I'm small, alright. Jeez.) It's just a peck on the lips with a hint of something more, and I can feel Dimitri try not to wince.

A few paparazzi take note of our cute farewell and then leave me alone. I wander around half-heartedly, picking up sprigs of lavender and smelling them. I consider buying a box of cheese breadsticks but remember that I'm not allowed anything with cheese in it- dermatologist's orders.

"Rose, look over here!"

I look up, and catch none other than Mia Rinaldi, infamous paparazzo complete with her multiple cameras, lenses capable of capturing the insides of your pores.

"Rose Hathaway, why on earth are you alone?" Mia asks while simultaneously snapping picture after picture in case I suddenly falter. A smirk is plastered across her smug, doll-like face. She lives for catching stars at their weakest, getting paid six figures or more for proof of failure.

"A girl needs some private time," I say, hoping she quotes me on that and Dimitri reads it and translates it to mean 'away from my crappy fake boyfriend'.

"So, you're not fighting with Dimitri?"

I shake my head and choose the perfect pint of strawberries- deep red, small, local, sweet smelling. I hand the seller ten dollars even though they cost half that and walk away to a grassy patch where I can sit and attempt to enjoy my limited free time.

Just doing simple things like sitting on the grass, feeling the breeze on my tanned legs makes me feel so relaxed I could fall asleep if it weren't for fear of Mia Rinaldi catching me drooling. Nearby, a toddler tugs on her mother's hat and the mom slips it on her little head. Adorable. The toddler looks round, fixes her gaze on me, and then heads my way.

"Oh honey, don't take the nice girl's strawberries," the toddler's mom warns and follows her child as the girl grabs a whole handful of fruit and squashes it in her palm.

"It's okay." I laugh and dig in my bag for a tissue. "Here." I give the mom the tissue and she thanks me.

"It's amazing the things she gets into. Thanks for not freaking out," the mom says.

"No problem," I tell her and pick one of the unmushed strawberries up and eat it. The toddler does the same. "I'd never finish the whole pint, anyway, so have some."

The mom picks a strawberry and sits down near me. It's so nice. A normal, peaceful interaction.

I give it four seconds before it all turns to shit.

"Berries are always so good this time of year. I should really get some on the way out," the mom mutters as her child smears red juice all over her face.

"The best ones are Fisher's, the last stall on the left," I tell her, wishing Dimitri had stayed with me. Shocker, I know. Three. Two.

"Oh really? I'll have to-"

One.

She looks at me, seeing me for the first time instead of just being embarrassed about her toddler's sticky hands.

"Oh. God. You're…" Her voice drifts off.

I nod. "It's okay." Like somehow it's worse for me to have a strawberry stolen than a normal person? "Really."

The mom blushes, and starts stammering. "It's just… my daughter- not Emily, my fifteen-year-old, Sasha- and I, watch your show every week, and I'm, like, a huge fan. I mean, _huge! _You're just so confident… You and Dimitri make the perfect couple!"

I try not to grimace at that last statement. Then her phone is in her hand before I can say anything else. "Could you… maybe… get a picture with me? Please?"

I politely pose for a picture and then grab my bag.

"Sorry, I've got to go. Hectic schedule, and all." I attempt a smile but the mom, once kind and chill, can't let me go.

"Oh, you're leaving?" She grabs my bag.

I pull on my bag, just enough to get her off and try to walk away. I told Alberta that I didn't want any bodyguards, but now I'm regretting the decision. I'll have to talk to her about that later.

I'm pulled out of my thoughts when the mom takes another tug at my bag and the strap snaps. The bag, which cost a thousand dollars at Gucci, is obviously not worth it. I've only had this bag for three days and the strap snaps? Um… refund?

My belongings fall onto the grass and I quickly garb as much stuff as I can and shove it back into the bag. My eyeliner, UltraGloss lip gloss (my contract states that I have to carry eyeliner and lip gloss, if not more, with me at all times), phone, pager, another cell phone, directions to the random pancake house where I have to meet Dimitri tomorrow at some ungodly hour for breakfast, a spare pair of ballet flats, car keys, house keys, energy bar. The mom blushes bright red as I turn away and start walking.

"Forget something?" It's the voice of the Devil in the form of Mia Rinaldi.

I'm about to say no when I see what she's got in her hands. She dangles something between two fingers, stretching it out in front of her as though it's a snake. _Vampire Academy: Season 5._

"That's mine." I say coolly, and snatch it back. But the damage is already done. She's snapped a picture of it with her micro-cam, the one permanently attached to her wrist.

"Of course," Mia says. "I would hate for you to be without your script." That smirk is back, though I doubt it ever went away.

I sigh. Maybe there's nothing juicy here. She got the shot we were hoping for, right? Season 5, everything's cool. At the bottom of each script it always says the same thing- "PROPERTY OF ROSE HATHAWAY/ DIMITRI BELIKOV – and then the number of scripts that have been distributed, which is always only two- one for each of us- to prevent plot leaks to the press or online. Even camera and on-set crew have scripts only on the closed set. I swing my bag onto my shoulder and start toward my car.

"Say, Rose," Mia says a bit too loud. "I shouldn't over-interpret the fact that you're reading Season 5 without Dimitri, should I?"

Shit. Here's the juice.

I pivot and smile my prettiest smile. "Of course not! He's got a copy, I've got a copy, and we're all set!"

Mia raises one perfectly arched eyebrow -which I can't do, no matter how hard I try -and smirks once again.

I walk away. It's only when I look at the script in my hand that I notice the fine print at the bottom of the front cover: "PROPERTY OF ROSE HATHAWAY- Copies Distributed: 1." Dimitri's name is nowhere to be seen.

Shit.

**DIMITRI**

Just driving down the boulevard in Adrian's convertible is fucking awesome. The wind's in my hair, and every time we stop the car, bikini-clad hotties literally squeal. We've been in God knows how many cell phone photos in the last ten minutes, and we've had more than thirty cell phone numbers chucked into our car. The crumpled pieces of paper are sitting in the built-in ashtray- Adrian's a notorious smoker. I guess this is how Tantalus felt. Tormented forever in the Greek afterlife by being ankle deep in water that would drain away when he bent over to drink, and by tree limbs groaning with succulent fruit right in front of his face that would shoot out of reach whenever he tried to pick something. My grandmother, Yeva, taught me that story when I was eleven. Now, unlike Tantalus, it's not fruit that torments me. It's hot girls. For example, that girl in the green bikini three traffic lights back, just out of reach. I can't call her- apparently her name is Holly- because I'm locked in fake love. And Adrian won't call her because he's not interested.

"Thanks for rescuing me. I think I was about to strangle Rose and thereby ruin my career."

"Thereby? Is that something you Russian's say?"

"Come off it, Adrian. You're a quarter Russian."

"Yeah, but I'm not a dick."

"You sure act like one."

"No, I think with my dick. There's a difference. You can't blame me- you think with your dick."

"What? Yeah right."

"Hey, no one can blame you, Dimitri. Rose is probably the sexiest girl on the planet. I don't even get why you don't take advantage of the situation and fuck her."

"Because then I would be you."

"Oh, yeah."

There is peaceful silence in the car. I give it three seconds, maximum.

One.

Two.

"So what're we doing tonight, man?"

I sigh wearily. Ever since the papers dubbed me and Adrian the nightclubbing party machines, his agent and my agent, Lissa, got together and decided we needed to go clubbing, like, every second night. Every other night, I was in me and Rose's shared private mansion. And that is why the whole world thinks we have sex like rabbits. And a tiny part of me- just a tiny part, mind you- wishes it was true. But it is a tiny part. Honest.

"Dimitri? Get the fuck back in the room, man!"

"Sorry."

"So…"

I get the hint.

"Let's go to Club Tropicana. I'll phone Christian, Mason and Jesse and see if they want to come."

"Nah, it's OK, we'll just head over to Mason's and ask them in person. And use their shower. I've been having sex all day, and boy am I sweaty."

"Fuck off, Adrian."

"You just sorry that you didn't tap Rose?"

I don't even dignify that comment with a response.

We soon pull up outside Mason's apartment. Mason Ashford plays one of Rose's best friends on VA. He's also one of my closest friends in real life, but is a competitor for Rose's affections on the show. Go figure. I step out of the car just as my phone buzzes.

_Lissa, _my phone reads. Less than a year ago, before she went back to Russia to devote herself to my sister Victoria's gymnastics career, Mom decided to put me in the care of an agent who appeared to be kind, warm and generous. Lissa is about as kind, warm and generous as a King Cobra, but she did put on a good show when Mom was here. Now that Mom's gone, the show is over.

"Yeah, Lissa?"

"Dimitri. Can you explain this Twitter stream I'm following? I saw a picture of you with a _fake _blonde with massive boobs leaning into your side of the convertible."

"Fans, Lissa. You know, they want-"

"I guess I'm just wondering why you're not at the farmer's market with Rose getting the script shot. You shouldn't have left her. You don't do that to your girlfriend. To anybody." Lissa sounds genuinely angry. That's when I remember that she's Rose's best friend. She's nineteen, yes, but she's one helluva an agent.

"Well, I ran into Adrian, and we're over at Mason's getting ready to go clubbing."

"That's good, Dimitri, but what about the shot? Why don't you take Rose clubbing with you?"

"Well, I figured-"

Lissa sighs. "Dimitri. I had assistants making that fake script all fucking day yesterday. I've got a call with the fucking network first thing in the fucking morning, which is why we needed to get those fucking pictures out today. The fucking negotiations are at a critical period, and I need you on board with our fucking strategy. We talked about this, Dimitri. Do as I fucking say, or else."

Lissa really likes the word _fuck _in case you hadn't noticed.

"Rose is there with the script, I gave her roses-"

"But you didn't get the shot."

"No. I guess not. I'm sorry."

There's a long silence. I walk into Mason's apartment and greet him with a slap on the back. I head towards the shower.

"Dimitri. This is a very, very delicate time in the fucking negotiations. I am going to need you to fucking cooperate. You have to help me help you."

"Sure." I turn the shower on and start unbuckling my belt.

"Call Rose. You guys need a romantic dinner out."

"Oh, for God's sake, Lissa!"

"Listen, Dimitri. You're not quite set for life. You need to work, I need you to work, and I think we've got at least one more season on the gravy train. Then I promise I will get you that cowboy comedy you want so much right after Season 5 wraps. Deal?"

"Deal."

"So call Rose, will you?"

"Yes, ma'am." I feel like telling her to take her head out of her fucking ass so that she can see what this fake relationship crap is doing to me.

"Good boy. Oh and one more thing Dimitri."

"Yeah?"

"Before you go to dinner, I want you to have sex with Rose so you look like a happy couple."

Fuck.

I call Rose after I hung up on Lissa. The thing is, I know I'm going to have to do it. And that tiny part that wanted to agree with Adrian in the car earlier is doing a little happy dance right now. The rest of me wants to break down and go into a coma.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Rose."

"I can't believe we have to do this."

"You know?"

"Alberta told me. She planned it with Lissa. I am so going to kill both of them, but Lissa especially! What sort of friend does this?"

"It's fine."

"No, Dimitri, it's not fine!"

"Look, all we have to do is have sex. Just pretend that I'm Jesse or Adrian or something."

"I don't even like them that way. Though I bet you'll pretend that you're fucking Tasha."

"Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?"

"Jealousy? In your dreams, Comrade."

"Comrade?"

"It's a step up from dickhead or asshole, isn't it?"

"I suppose."

"I'll see you in a bit."

"Wait Rose- one question."

"I'm waiting."

"Are you a virgin?"

She hangs up on me. Shit.

**So, there you have it- Rose and Dimitri have to have sex. And yes, that means that there will be a lemon in the next chapter. **

**Thank you to:**

**Behatley: I'm glad you like it and thanks for being my first reviewer!**

**Littlebadgirl2904: I'm sorry about the long wait, but it should be quicker now! I'm so happy that you're hooked!**

**Vampire academyy: Here's an update, and I'm glad you like it!**

**Bros b4 hoes: Thanks for reviewing and can I say that I absolutely love your pen name!**

**Booklover: Thank you for reviewing and the encouragement!**

**XxBelikovxX: Here's the update! Thank you for reviewing!**

**Twilighternproud: I'm glad you love it and hopefully the rest of the story will be up to standard!**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favourited and alerted: I love you guys so much!**

**Love, Little-Miss-Badass.**


	3. It's Over

**Lights, Camera, Romance!**

**Chapter 3: It's Over**

**Hey guys, here's Chapter 3. This is going to be a short A/N so… enjoy!**

**ROSE**

I am going to kill Lissa. Or break down and go into hiding. Or both. The one thing I am _not _going to do is have sex with Dimitri Belikov. It's OK when the whole world _thinks _we're having sex, but actually doing the deed? Not a chance.

And, OK, I have to admit it- one tiny part of me (and I do mean, like, miniscule) really wants to sleep with him. Because, yes, I will admit it, he is gorgeous. But he's also Dimitri Belikov. That rules out any good qualities he may or may not have.

My phone buzzes and I reach for my bedside table. I see the caller ID and my blood boils. _Lissa._

I answer and immediately Lissa's voice fills my ears.

"Rose! Please don't be mad! I did it for your own good! I promise!"

"Why would sleeping with Dimitri be for my own good? You know I hate him with a passion!"

"That's why, Rose! If we can turn that passionate hatred into passionate love, the next season of _Vampire Academy _is going to be the best one yet!"

The fight goes out of me. "How could you, Lissa?" I whisper dejectedly.

"I know you hate me right now, Rose, but one day you'll understand. I promise. And then we'll all laugh about this and I'll be able to say 'told you so'." Lissa gives a half-hearted chuckle. "Just wait and see, Rose. I know what I'm doing. And, if you can't trust your best friend-"

"Not right now, no." I interrupt.

"You trust Alberta, don't you?" Lissa continues. "Anyway, Rose, just sleep with him. It's not that big a deal."

"Not that big a deal? _Not that big a deal? _Lissa, it's like me telling you to sleep with Christian Ozera."

"Ewww! I hate him! How could you say that?"

"Exactly."

I hang up on Lissa and put my phone back on my bedside table. I lie back on my silk pillows, trying not to think about what was going to happen later that night. This worked (yeah, right) until my phone buzzed again. I groaned as I leaned over, and picked up my phone once again.

It was a text from Dimitri.

I sat straight up and opened the text.

_Rose meet me at my place at 8. We'll make out in the garden so that the cameras can see us. Then we'll go inside._

Oh, fantastic. Absolutely fucking fantastic. I was about to turn off my phone when another text from Dimitri came through.

_Rose, wear something sexy. I'll do the same._

The text was crude but I could understand where Dimitri was coming from. Wearing something sexy would definitely help set the non-existent mood.

I was contemplating what to wear when there was a sharp knock at the door. I jogged across to the entrance hall and opened the door.

My visitor swept in, carrying bags and bags of what looked like extremely expensive designer dresses, make-up, jewellery and shoes. I followed my visitor through to my walk-in wardrobe which had it's own en-suite bathroom that could comfortably house an Olympic-sized swimming pool.

"Sit," my visitor told me, pointing to the hairdresser's chair in front of my massive vanity chest complete with mirror and surrounding light-bulbs. I sat. My visitor was not someone you argued with. I liked to give my visitor hell sometimes (well, most of the time), but tonight they looked like they meant business.

"Right, Rose." My visitor said. "You're going to have a cleansing shower and then we'll to some skin work, followed by hair. Then we'll do make-up. But first, you have to choose what colour palette you want for your make-up, and what hairstyle you want."

I grinned. "Alright then, Stan, my boy. We'll go for smoky eyes and cherry red lips. You know what I'm doing later?"

Stan smirked at me and nodded.

"Then you know that an intricate hairstyle is pointless. Because of that, we'll just go for full spiral curls simply pinned up. Make it easy for Dimitri to take out though. Dress should be black and tight, shoes probably black. I'll have a look at what you brought once we've done hair and make-up."

"I never thought I'd say this, but good choice, Hathaway."

"Thank you, Stanny."

"When we were in Hong Kong, I told you to never call me that again."

"I wasn't listening."

Stan rolls his eyes. "Hathaway. Shower. Now. Go!"

I walk over to the shower cubicle and grab a towel on my way over. I step into the cubicle and strip. The marbled glass protects my privacy, though I'm not that worried since Stan is gay. His boyfriend is Yuri, Dimitri's accountant. I throw my clothes over the top of the cubicle and out onto the floor below. I see Stan pick up my bra.

"Uh. La Senza. I don't like it. Tonight you'll wear a black lace Gucci bra. Two and a half thousand dollars."

"Stan, why I don't I just not wear a bra. It's less for Dimitri to take off."

"It depends on the dress, Hathaway. We'll see which one you pick."

"Sure thing." I turn on the shower and sigh when the hot water runs over my body. I wash my hair thoroughly and scrub my body clean. Even though I don't want to sleep with Dimitri, I _do _want to look nice.

I spend twenty minutes in the shower before Stan shouts at me to get the fuck out of the shower before he comes in to get me. I turn the shower off and wrap a thick towel around my body before I step out into the bathroom. Stan is standing by the hairdressers chair, holding a warm-looking towelling robe.

I cross the room and just drop the towel. Stan doesn't even flinch. He doesn't see girls in that way. It's all about the guys for him. Or, Yuri, anyway. The two of them are madly in love.

Stan hands me the robe and I pull it on, revelling in its warmth. I sit down in the chair and let Stan take over.

First of all, Stan uses some face scrub to cleanse my pores to keep them clean and healthy. Stan is in cahoots with my dermatologist I'm sure- whenever I mention cheese he shudders and says- "Imagine what it would do to your skin!"

Then he washes off the face scrub and tones it with special textured pads. Then he slaps a fuckload of moisturiser on my face and rubs it in- none too gentle, either.

Once satisfied that my skin is fine for the present moment, he turns to my hair and literally attacks it. He takes a brush and combs through my hair, towel drying it as he goes. Once smooth, with no tangles and knots at all, Stan trims the bottom of my hair in case of split ends, and then gets out his shiny black Babyliss hairdryer.

After ten minutes, my hair is dry, and that's when the real fun starts. Stan combs and brushes my hair to within an inch of its life; then he gets out the gloss and smoothes some on his hands, and then runs his hands over my head, right down to the ends of my hair. When I look in the mirror, my hair is super glossy.

Stan digs in his Prada man-satchel (which is apparently really manly) and gets out his curling tongs. After an hour (I spent it reading an article in Teen Weekly about how much they think me and Dimitri have sex- how ironic, I know) my hair is done and curled to perfection.

"Wow, Stan. Thanks."

"You're welcome, Hathaway."

"Aww, Stan. Why the long face?"

"That hairstyle which I just spent two hours on is going to be ruined in under three hours." Stan looks genuinely upset.

"Stan, don't worry. I promise to make sure the press get loads of pictures of me before I sleep with Dimitri. That way they see the perfect hairstyle, courtesy of you, before it gets all sexed up."

Stan brightens visibly and actually skips off to his dress bags which are hung up on one of the long dress racks in the wardrobe.

"Black and tight?" he calls back to me.

"Yeah."

"Any style preference?"

"You pick. Just make sure it suits me."

"Right-o."

I sit down on a leather armchair in the corner of the wardrobe and read magazines until Stan comes back over, dress bag in hand.

"Let's see it then," I say.

Stan grins and unzips the bag, pulls it out, and allows me to see it for the first time. It's absolutely gorgeous and my jaw drops open.

It's got three quarter length sleeves which are made of see-through black floral lace. The main dress part is tight and black and bodycon, with a layer of the floral lace on it. It looks so sexy even on the hanger.

Stan hands it over and says, "No bra."

I shrug and slip on a black lace thong that Stan throws over. Once in my thong, Stan comes over with the dress and helps me slip it on. It fits perfectly, hugging my every curve. I grin, and Stan gasps.

"What?" I ask. "I don't look that hideous do I?"

"Make-up!" Stan breathes. "We almost forgot your make-up!"

Stan steers me back to the vanity table and shoves me down into the chair. He digs once more in his man-satchel and comes up with a smoky eyes palette, foundation, cherry red lipstick and a tube of clear lip-gloss. He digs around again and out comes the blusher and mascara.

Ten minutes later, I'm all made up. Smoky eyes with extraordinarily long lashes, cherry red lips that are all glossy and wet, looking, a slight blush on my cheeks, and perfect skin. Stan inspects my outfit and the hands me a pair of gorgeous black heels. He offers me his arm as I slip them on. He hands me an Armani clutch purse and opens the door for me.

"Remember the photos!" He calls after me.

I chuckle and hear him close the door. As I walk down the path towards the electronic gates, I check that my phone and money are in the purse. They are, along with a pack of ribbed condoms for both his and her pleasure. I roll my eyes. That is so _Stan._

Sooner than I would like, I arrive at the gates of Dimitri's Russian palace styled mansion. The guards at the gate take one look at me and gulp visibly. I try to ignore their reactions, though my confidence is boosted at this good start. I think this means I look good.

The guards let me into the estate and I walk up the long drive to Dimitri's actual mansion. I knock on the door with the big lion's head door knocker and the door opens almost immediately. It's Dimitri and the blood rushes from my head and my thong becomes instantly soaked because he looks so good. Black shirt, dark jeans. No duster, though. Shame.

Dimitri runs his eyes over my body and heat coils in my lower belly. My thong must be ruined now, I'm so wet.

"Hi."

"Hi."

We stare at each other until Dimitri comes outside and closes the door.

"There are a lot of press on the Western side of the estate. We can make out in the garden there."

"Sure." I say, sounding way too eager for my liking.

Dimitri chuckles. "Oh, Roza."

The old nickname that hasn't been used since we were fourteen makes the heat in my belly increase and I have to subtly rub my thighs together to try and achieve some release. Dimitri grabs my hand and leads me across the estate.

When we arrive at the garden I see a long stone bench along the side furthest away from the press and place my purse on the arm of the bench. When I turn to face Dimitri, he's really close up to me. My thong is now completely soaked, and I'm getting wetter by the second.

"You look fantastic, Roza." He whispers.

"You don't look half bad yourself."

He chuckles and runs a finger across my lips. I moan. His eyes burn with lust and desire. Next thing I know I'm in his arms and his lips are pressed against mine. Unlike most of our other kisses, this one was filled with passion and desire.

His lips moved against mine, his teeth nibbling at my bottom lip, his tongue sweeping across my mouth, begging for entrance. I granted it. I moaned once again and pulled Dimitri closer. I grinded my bottom half against his and moaned as his dick rubbed against my clit. Dimitri groaned and pulled me across to the bench. I broke away from him, shaking my head.

"Not in front of the press," I breathe.

Dimitri grunts and pulls me in a different direction, towards what seems to be an old forgotten cottage at the side of the garden. He bangs open the door then closes it and draws the deadbolt across the door. Then he's back, his lips on mine once again.

The next two minutes fly by. My shoes and dress are off, Dimitri's in his boxers. We're on the bed.

"You ready?" he pants.

I think about it.

I come to a decision.

"Yes."

That's all Dimitril needs. He removes my thong pulling it down with his teeth, his tongue flicking out to hit my clit, sending waves of pleasure to the pit of my belly. I pull his boxers off with my feet and he kicks them off once they're low enough. Then he's on top of me, the tip of his cock at my sopping entrance.

"OK?"

I nod and Dimitri pushes in, inch by inch. The pain is intense- I am a virgin- and tears leak from my eyes as he buries himself to the hilt.

Dimitri hisses. "So fucking tight, Roza."

The pain is starting to subside and all I want is to move with Dimitri and create as much pleasure as possible. I grip his butt and Dimitri jumps slightly with surprise.

I smile.

Game on.

**DIMITRI**

Rose's hands on my ass cause me to start slightly. She wants it? Then she'll have it. I start moving at an agonizingly slow pace, thrust in, thrust out.

Roza moans beneath me and I hiss with pleasure. She's so fucking tight, and her dripping walls clutch at my dick, sending immense waves of pleasure right to my balls. Rose moans again and before I know it, she's flipped us around and is on top. She pulls off of me, just leaving my tip in her entrance, and then slams right down. We both moan in pleasure and I lie back, letting Rose set the pace. She leans forward, and I slip my tongue into her mouth, one hand on her hip, and using the other hand to roll a nipple between my skilled fingers. I then take the hand that's on her hip and rub her clit violently. Rose bucks violently. She likes that? Hmmm.

I flip us over again, and pick up the pace even more, pounding into her like never before. I continue to play with Rose's clit. I can tell she's close and with one hard thrust and an especially hard flick to her clit, she screams out and her walls clamp around my dick and her orgasm causes me to shout and spill my seed into her. My orgasm is just as strong as Rose's because somewhere in the middle of her orgasm, Roza reached out and grabbed my balls, squeezing them tightly. It's the best orgasm I've ever had in my life.

I roll off the top of her. Roza rolls on top of me and smiles.

"We should probably be getting to dinner, shouldn't we?"

I smirk. "Probably."

Rose gets up off the bed and stretches. She picks up her thong. "You tore it as you pulled it off."

I smirk once again. "Go without. I dare you."

Her eyes narrow and she grins. "Fine. But you have to go to dinner with no shirt."

"Consider it done." I pull on my boxers and jeans, buckling my belt, as Rose pulls on her dress and shoes. She grabs her shoes and slips them on, and I grab my shoes and do the same.

"You hungry?" I ask her.

"Starving." She grins and walks to the door, hips swaying, and it's all I can do to keep Little Dimitri asleep.

I drive Rose and I to A La Maison, the new French-Moroccan restaurant that's opened up in town.

We stop outside the restaurant and take note of the paparazzi around us. I lean into Rose. "Gimme some tongue, baby," I whisper and she turns and snogs me before walking into the restaurant. I turn to the paparazzi. "Sorry, boys, can't stay and chat. Gotta follow the lady."

"I hear, ya," shout a couple of paps. I stroll casually into the restaurant and take Rose to our pre-booked table- courtesy of Lissa.

As we sit down I gaze longingly into Rose's eyes. People around us are 'discreetly' taking pictures of us with their cell phones. The ladies especially seem to be focussing on my shirtless physique. Confident that we've been photographed looking intimate we sit back and wait for the waiter to come over and take our order.

That's when I notice the light of the streetlamp reflecting off a camera lens sticking out the window of Mia Rinaldi's car.

"Mia in the house," I say.

"Oh, God. Oh, and Dimitri?"

"Yeah?"

"You're all sweaty." She grins at me and I smirk back.

"Yeah, your mom got me all sweaty. Sorry."

"What's really funny is that you think you're man enough to handle my mom." She laughs.

"Ouch!" I say.

My phone rings at the same time as Rose's and we both pick up.

"What the hell do you mean, they know it's fake?" I hear Rose say, whilst in my other ear I hear Lissa say this:

"Great. We're into twenty-four hour damage control. You two have just been outed as a fake couple."

I look at Rose. She looks completely lost, and though we shared many intimate moments shortly before, all I want to do is laugh. It's over. At last, it's finally over.

**Right, how was that? That was my first lemon, so please tell me how I did! I've decided to PM all my reviewers, but for the anonymous peeps:**

**Booklover and Guest: Thanks for reviewing and I'm glad you like the story.**

**Please can people recommend Vampire Academy, Twilight, Harry Potter, Ice Age and How to Train Your Dragon fics please? Thanks.**

**I might not be able to get the next chapter up as quick as this, because I'm out riding tomorrow, but I'll try my best.**

**Love, Little-Miss-Badass.**


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